


Undeniable

by lindsey_grissom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Belly Rubs, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsey_grissom/pseuds/lindsey_grissom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft knew he should have stopped before dessert.  Luckily he knows a man with warm hands and a gentle touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undeniable

Mycroft knew it would be a mistake to eat the ice cream the moment he ordered it, but John had eyed the dessert menu as soon as they sat down and Mycroft is finding that there are very few things he is unwilling to do for the doctor. Overeating so that John can have the chocolate cake he craves without eating alone, is obviously not one of them.

He's so full now that accepting John's offer of a bite of his cake seems like a Herculean task, but when John holds out the full fork to him, Mycroft finds his mouth opening of its own accord and then the hot sponge is melting against his tongue.

"Good isn't it?" John asks, reclaiming his fork and taking a bite for himself. Mycroft nods his agreement, swallowing carefully and finishing the last of his wine to wash it down when it sticks in his throat.

What John doesn't know, and what Mycroft is wishing he had told him, is that this is the second three-course meal that Mycroft has eaten today, the first; his lunchtime meeting with the Minister for Work and Pensions. He could have told the doctor and they would have cancelled tonight, but he had promised John the night out and had been reluctant to break his word.

John finishes the last of his dessert, wiping at the corners of his mouth with his serviette and despite his discomfort Mycroft has the urge to lick away the little pieces of chocolate that he misses. John drops the crumpled white square onto the table and then pushes himself up, tilting his head towards the restroom. "Just be a minute." He says, his fingers dragging across Mycroft's shoulders when he walks behind him.

Mycroft shifts in his seat, indicating to the waitress that he is ready for the bill. He knows what John has in mind for the rest of the night and his cock stirs lazily at the thought. John and Sherlock have finally tied up the ends of their latest case and it will be the first time in a week that John is free to spend the night with Mycroft without the risk of Sherlock turning up with a sudden insight. 

They decided early on - after the second time Mycroft jerked awake with John pressed against his back and his brother's eyes inches from his face - that it's easier if John stays at 221B during a case. It has the added benefit of increasing the anticipation when they _are_ free to spend the night together and Mycroft has yet to find himself disappointed when the wait is over.

The waitress returns with the bill and Mycroft reaches for it, hiding a grimace. He really should have stopped after the steak.

John slips back into his seat just as Mycroft presses the last digit of his pin code into the card machine, adding a suitable tip to the charge. The waitress leaves with a final smile and John drains the last of his wine. "All done?" He asks, his eyes burning with expectation and Mycroft feels a shiver of excitement go down his back. 

Instead of answering, he stands and unhooks his umbrella from the back of his chair. John smiles, standing himself and as they leave, his hand bumps against Mycroft's far too often to be accidental.

\---

The drive back to his house is unbearably slow. John's hand makes its way casually up Mycroft's leg, stopping to squeeze occasionally before carrying on, getting closer and closer to where Mycroft can feel even more interest stirring.

The car hits a bump and Mycroft bites back a groan, his erection flagging again. His trouser button presses painfully into his stomach and even though his open jacket and the dark car hide it well, he knows his belly is distended with too much food. John's hand continues to climb, unaware that important parts of Mycroft have stopped responding and then rests in the crease at the top of his thigh, thumb rubbing his hip distractedly.

He tries to take a deep breath and finds that he doesn't have the room for it. John leans into him briefly, his voice whispering across Mycroft's neck.

"As soon as we get to yours I'm taking you to bed and then I'm going to fuck you so hard, Mycroft; you'll be feeling it for the rest of the week." He pulls back, sitting straight in the seat and directing his eyes out of the window, and Mycroft's heart pounds in his chest. God, he wants that, wants John so much that his skin tingles and his cock gives a little twitch to show its support. Unfortunately, his stomach has other ideas and twists painfully; he feels hot and cold at the same time and it is surprisingly hard not to curl up around the discomfort.

Any remaining hopes he might entertain that he can still have a satisfying night with John disappear with a final ominous gurgle from his stomach, which seems to increase the pressure beneath his skin.

The sight of his house through the window can't come soon enough. John fairly leaps from the car when they pull up, desire written into every line of his body and Mycroft tries to think beyond the bloat of his stomach, _can he?_ He thinks of John naked and spread out across his best silk sheets and his cock gives another little twitch but a sharp pain lances up just beneath his ribs and that's about as definite a _no_ as he is likely to get.

The house is dark and cold and switching on the hall light all Mycroft wants to do is curl up in the dark and pray his stomach doesn't explode. "Coffee?" He offers, aware that he's delaying the inevitable conversation. John must pick up on something in his voice because after a pause he nods his head, tugging off his tie.

Every step brings more discomfort and the kitchen seems further away than it has a right to be. John settles onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar and Mycroft flips on the coffee machine, adjusting the settings and placing a mug beneath one of the nozzles.

"Aren't you having one?" He looks at John in confusion and the doctor points to the single cup. _Oh_. 

"No, I am quite fine." Mycroft says, adjusting the position of the mug a little. 

"Then why did you offer?" John slips from the stool and circles the bar, sidling up behind Mycroft and sliding his arms around his waist. Mycroft keeps himself from wriggling away as John's forearms rest against his stomach. 

"I thought you might-" He stops because John's hands are moving across his front and while one slides up his breastbone, the other dips down Mycroft's abdomen and then pauses, fingers spreading and rubbing sideways.

"You're in pain." John's other hand joins his first on Mycroft's stomach, no doubt feeling just how much Mycroft has over indulged today.

"It's nothing." He says, even as his stomach cramps again, sweat breaking out on his brow.

"Mycroft, I can feel just how bloated you are." John's voice is full of concern with none of his earlier passion and Mycroft mourns the loss, even though he knew it was coming. He can only feel the slightest warmth from John's hands through the layers of his clothes, but the doctor always has incredibly warm hands. 

"Really, it's nothing." He protests, turning in John's hold to head for the fridge. John doesn't move and he crashes bodily into him, and it _hurts_ and he really needs to stop moving around.

John gives him a level look and then flicks off the coffee machine. To Mycroft's surprise he drops to his knees on the kitchen tiles, unbuttoning the end of Mycroft's waistcoat and shirt, and then the one trouser button. The fabric falling away is a relief and he grips the sideboard behind him, leaning back on his arms. John frowns, and brings a finger up to run over what is no doubt a rather red button-shaped impression on his skin, just below his navel. It still hurts and Mycroft stretches back further, trying to ease some of the pressure, uncomfortable with the attention John is giving him. 

"You don't have to, that is, I know it's awful." He says, his elbows bending as his stomach cramps and sweat drips down his back and chest. This is really not how he had hoped the night would go - sweating and John's hands on his skin; yes, but not like this.

"What you've done to yourself? That you're in pain? Yeah that's pretty terrible. But this;" He brings both of his hands up and cups Mycroft's stomach gently, thumbs rubbing along the trail of hair until it disappears into his underwear, "there's no part of you that I'd call awful, Mycroft. Gorgeous?" He hums, pressing his lips to Mycroft's belly, the vibration travelling through his skin. "Mhm. Delicious?" John's tongue slips out between his lips, licking a line over the curve of Mycroft's stomach. "Definitely." He presses a light kiss just below and to the left of his navel and then stands back up.

Mycroft looks into his eyes and John leans over, Mycroft's position levelling out their heights, and presses their lips together. Mycroft leans up into it as much as he can, opening his mouth under John's and brushing his tongue along the side of John's when it slips through his lips. They break apart to breathe and John drops closed-mouth kisses at the corner of his mouth, and down his jaw. Another muscle twinges in his side and Mycroft groans.

"Go on then." John speaks the words into the skin just below Mycroft's ear, where jaw meets neck. "You'll feel better if you get changed." He's nudged in the direction of the stairs and John moves to the kettle. "Bed or sofa?" _There goes the night_ he thinks, but his shoulders relax a little because John isn't going to just leave. 

"Sofa." He says, heading out into the hallway. The stairs are one painful step after another and by the time he reaches his bedroom he could happily curl up there in his suit and not move for a few days. A cupboard door bangs closed downstairs and he thinks about how much better he'll feel with John near him and it gives him the focus to undress and slip into his pyjamas. Bending down to collect his discarded clothing is a little too much however and he kicks his trousers out of the way instead, resolving to pick them up as soon as his stomach feels less like he swallowed a small melon whole.

By the time he makes it back downstairs, his dressing gown tied loosely at his waist, John has rearranged the pillows on the couch and the television shows the title menu for the original _Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy_. He settles onto the couch, curling up tightly in the corner, concentrating on breathing until John joins him. 

He's so focussed internally he misses his lover's entrance and John's hand on his shoulder makes him jump. John's eyes soften in sympathy at Mycroft's grimace and he holds out a rubbery square. "Thought this might help." He says and Mycroft takes the hot water bottle gratefully, laying it across his stomach outside of his clothes.

"Thank you, John." The other man smiles, sliding in beside Mycroft on the couch and pressing play on the remote. Mycroft's concentration is shot though, as if his stomach and the pressure there is all he can think about, the heat from the bottle helping but he's still painfully bloated and _surely it shouldn't hurt this much?_

John's fingers tickle at the back of his neck, playing with the short hairs and eventually the touch pulls him away from his thoughts. "Come here." John tilts his head, his fingers circling Mycroft's neck and tugging and Mycroft notices the cushion on John's lap.

He thinks about it for a moment, but laying down does seem like a good idea and he lets himself be guided down, his head on John's lap and his legs curled up across the couch. John arranges the water bottle so that it's still wrapped around the front of Mycroft's stomach without it falling off the edge of the seat. 

"So, which Minister did you have lunch with?" John asks as he slips a hand under Mycroft's dressing gown and pyjama top and starts rubbing warm circles against his taut skin.

Mycroft says nothing in surprise but leans into the light touch, pressing his belly harder against John's palm and John adjusts to rub with firmer strokes.

"I might not be a genius like you and Sherlock but I'm not a complete idiot, you know. You didn't have any more to eat tonight than we usually do, which means you must've had a big lunch and you only do that when you have an important meeting."

"It wasn't that important." He groans as John massages a particularly sensitive spot. "And I do know." He adds. "You sell yourself short, you are a surprisingly clever man, Doctor Watson."

"Surprisingly?" Mycroft tenses, and then gasps as his belly protests painfully. John shifts, pressing the water bottle flat against Mycroft with one hand, the other continuing its lazy circles.

"John, I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant, I was teasing. Bad timing on my part, sorry. I didn't think." The tension seeps back out of Mycroft at the admission and he feels suddenly boneless. "Look, this is your favourite part." The volume rises and Mycroft watches for a few scenes, his breathing slowing out in time with John's as the pressure in his stomach gradually starts to ease. 

"Thank you." He says some time later, not sure a second after if he said the words out loud or not. His eyes drift, eyelids blinking closed and staying there.

"Next time, just tell me when you've already eaten. I'd have been just as happy coming back here and making something for myself." Mycroft thinks that sounds like a splendid idea and, one step away from sleep, can't figure out why he didn't think of that before.

 _'I shall make an effort to do that John, but now please continue moving your hand because it seems to be easing some of the pain and by the way were you aware that you make a very comfortable pillow?'_ He has a feeling that he says none of that - and in the morning he'll very much hope he didn't - and instead a quiet hum vibrates out of his throat. 

John chuckles, fingers brushing through Mycroft's hair. "For a smart man, you do some really silly things sometimes, Mycroft Holmes." Mycroft thinks he should probably argue, but sleeping seems much easier so he does that instead.


End file.
